


hailing frequencies

by carnivores



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, First Time, Fluff, Humor, Languages, M/M, Romance, Sex Pollen, Smut, Starfleet Academy, Telepathy, half betazoid!Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-20 15:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnivores/pseuds/carnivores
Summary: In which Yuuri goes to Starfleet Academy, falls in love, stops a war, meets his soulmate, becomes a Communications Officer, and gets engaged. But not necessarily in that order. Also, Phichit seduces a Vulcan. Because of course he does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can't believe we finally got here, but, here it is. The Starfleet Academy AU that nobody asked for. Weekly posting schedule for the weekend. Hope you like it! All the thanks in the world to my beta-in-chief the_moment_is_coming.

“Phichit, have you ever considered that maybe seducing a Vulcan isn’t the best idea you’ve ever had?” Yuuri said, gently.

Phichit dropped his PADD in mock-betrayal. And his sandwich. On the PADD. “Yuuri! How could you be so negative?” He admonished, beginning to rub the sandwich grease off his black-rimmed PADD with the filthy crimson sleeve of his cadet uniform, all the grace of one of the academy’s finest remaining totally intact. “I think I’m wearing him down! Today I bumped into him, and he even raised a pointy eyebrow at me. Look, I took a picture!” He began to open his PADD, presumably to show Yuuri the devious machinations of his mind given form; still an inescapable enigma after three years.

Yuuri looked over at the image and was just grateful that Phichit hadn’t constructed a holo. Seung Gil Lee was indeed raising a single dark, pointed eyebrow. Doubtless this was to convey all of his unholy disdain for the human race and the usual cutting remarks he regularly thought, savagely, in the comfort of his own mind – Yuuri had always considered this rather illogical in itself - without actually having to interact with anyone in order to say them. Yuuri sighed, and took his glasses off. He rubbed his eyes, and looked at his timetable again, as if staring into the tragic abyss that was the timetable of a third year Communications track student would somehow make it a little less tragic. He maintained that it was still untenable for his third year at the academy to have started.

Phichit openly despaired at him. “You have no appreciation of the Vulcan form, Yuuri,” he said, clicking his teeth. Every click reverberated in Yuuri’s ears, an insistent, head-splitting din. Yuuri put his head in his hands. Phichit went back to stalking Seung Gil’s social media.

The white of the academy dining hall converged in on him, glaringly. He looked at the time. He twitched. He looked at the time again, and took a sip of his genmaicha tea. He twitched again. Replicated tea sucked every year, no matter whatever fake improvements the engineers continued to cite. Yuuri’s head felt remarkably like what he imagined a jammed replicator to look like, all floaty molecules flushed into strawberry jam; he suddenly sympathised with any starship faced with a tribble infestation, reproducing infinitely until they pounded out against the duranium alloys - no match for a merciless, fluffy avalanche. His brain felt like strawberry jam, too. Or like his brain matter had re-materialised as a tribble. Either was a likely possibility, when he couldn’t remember what on earth he had gotten up to last night after the academy’s annual induction party.

Yuuri felt a sharp stabbing pain in his neck, and then – oh, oh, sweet relief. His torment was finally alleviated. He turned around. Leo de la Iglesia smiled fondly, and waved his hypo like a white flag. “For your no doubt terrible hangover. Your late night escapades made Guang Hong late for his first class, you know. He had to come beg me for a hypo.”

Yuuri groaned and put his glasses back on to address his beloved saviour more clearly. Leo looked at his glasses distastefully. “I can do the laser treatment instead of those, if you want. I’m qualified now, even if you don’t trust Starfleet Medical,” he said.

“No!” Yuuri and Phichit said, simultaneously. Sometimes it felt like Phichit could read his mind, even if he was psi-null. Perhaps it was a lingering skill based off of years of Phichit's Communications training – or rather, just over-exposure to a half-Betazoid for a best friend and roommate.

Or maybe, Yuuri thought viciously, he was just that predictable. He could feel a psi-headache emerging as the cadets in classes at 1pm broke out, gratifying joy visceral and unrelenting exhaustion like a bleak numbing gel on his brain. Third year, he told himself, would not be different from second or first.

He was lost in his reverie long enough to lose his place in the conversation, looking up and regretting it instantly. “But Leo, you know Commander Nikiforov said he liked glasses in the interviews he did with the Federation News Network! And long walks on Andorian ice caps, and the way the sunset looks on Risa. Yuuri even has a limited edition poster of him there, you know!” Phichit snickered, and the tendrils of purposeful, mutinous amusement flickered delicately on the periphery of Yuuri’s mind.

“Phichit,” Yuuri said, warningly.

Phichit did not look contrite at all. Leo looked irrepressibly encouraged, and started on Yuuri as well. “But Phichit,” Leo said, low and horribly, horribly entertained, “The USS Lilia came back from its five year mission recently.” The medics at Starfleet Academy, Yuuri thought, were not terribly skilled in bedside manner. Only another reason he wouldn’t trust them with his Betazoid nature.

“Word is,” he said, slowly, “that Commander Nikiforov is grounded here, in San Francisco.”

Yuuri stopped. He couldn’t even reprimand Phichit for dropping his sandwich on his PADD again. White noise droned through his mind, coalescing into whispers, and sedate flickers of consciousness on the edge of his mind. He was so, so hot; the whispers built, and built, until for once, Yuuri was so grateful for the interminable cacophony occupying his mind he didn’t bother to shield. Phichit’s leg nudged against his under the table, concerned. Eventually, blank verse began to shift into recognisable linguistic patterns. He rebooted. Phichit and Leo were staring at him with poorly disguised alarm. He cleared his throat awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “I assumed he would be staying on a diplomatic ship to continue the upholding of the peace treaty he made with the Klingon delegation?”   

Leo shook his head. “Nah. Since Captain Yakov got promoted to the Admiralty, I heard the higher ups want the Commander to captain his own ship after he got the Klingons to start negotiating with the Federation.” 

Guang Hong Ji slammed his black tray on the table, and put his head in his hands. Yuuri was immensely grateful for the distraction. “Why did I ever think Science track was a good idea?” Guang Hong said, sounding exactly like every student who had ever done the science track, ever, bar possibly Seung Gil Lee, and probably Commander Spock. Leo patted his head, commiserating. Phichit took this as his opportunity. “Did you hear about Commander Nikiforov, Guang Hong?”

Guang Hong instantly lit up, forgotten apple in his hand. “Yes! Someone in my class was saying how the admiralty is giving him the USS Makkachin, when it's built! I hope I make Ensign there,” he said, sounding wistful. He looked at Yuuri, a little twinkle in his eyes. Yuuri did not like that glint. He categorically did not like any twinkle, glint, gleam, or any object presenting these properties, ever. All they suggested was a bad, bad idea, especially when in Guang Hong’s eyes. The only possible exception to this rule was the hair of one Commander Victor Nikiforov. But that was an exception that he was very much not going to think about, especially with sharks in the water around, circling him, wanting blood. 

Namely, his friends.

“Yuuri, didn’t you once say you wanted to be Chief Communications Officer of the Makkachin?” Guang Hong said, the unrepentant traitor.

“It’s in his diary,” Phichit confirmed.

“Phichit, that is my goals list, not my diary.” Yuuri said, definitely not on the defensive. It wasn’t a diary. Really. This was fine. He was fine, really. Certainly not exploding on the inside.

Phichit turned to him, a furrow between his brows. “Then why is it written in Standard, Japanese, Vulcan, Klingon, Romulan, and Andorian, inside hearts?”

Yuuri knew he should’ve requested single accommodation.

“Maybe you’ll have an epic romance on the bridge. The Captain and his Chief Communications Officer!”

“Oh!” Guang Hong exclaimed. Leo just shrugged, smirking.

“Phichit, I really don’t need to hear about the kinky interspecies romance novels you’ve been reading. And with that, I have to go – I have Intro to Andorian this year with Commander Zh’toroq. I don’t need to make a bad first impression.” He got up, and certainly did not run to escape the Great Nikiforov Roast he was about to receive. It wasn’t really a problem. He just admired Commander Nikiforov. Professionally. In a completely businesslike capacity. Yuuri’s interest in his hair and eyes and skin was simply a scientific interest in the results of a quarter Andorian and three-quarter human hybrid. Nothing untowardly at all.

He knew his committed-to-honesty Betazoid ancestors were rolling in their graves, sleeping furiously, but he was still half human. And after all, self-deception was a time honoured human tradition.

“I will have you know those are classic works of great Orion literature!” Phichit hollered after him.

Yuuri shook his head. Maybe this year would be slightly,  _ slightly _ more interesting than he had previously hoped for. Only slightly, though.

His ancestors were definitely rolling in their graves. 


	2. Chapter 2

Yuuri searched carefully; he had already found room 107, 108, 109 - and there it was - 110. Commander Zh’toroq’s Intro to Andorian class. Whispering the basics to himself once more, the strong, mellifluous sounds rolling discordantly over his tongue. He clicked his tongue in frustration, trying again, quiet murmurations evolving into fuller, brighter sentences. Though his Andorian was reasonable through private study, Commander Zh’toroq had too full a schedule to teach the intermediate classes. Yuuri accepted this, and had signed up for Intro to Andorian once third year rolled around, sure that his pronunciation was lacking. It was nothing like the lyrical, ardent vigour in the words passed around freely by native speakers, making him question his linguistic ability again in uncertainty.

Yuuri took his customary seat in the back, as he did for all lectures. Three years at the academy had taught him well enough the best places to be looked over and avoided, lest any professor get it into their head to introduce him to their specialty in a trial by burning, burning fire. Searching for a familiar face, Emil Nekola smiled up at him from his seat at the front, waving, looking puzzled as to why Yuuri was so far back. Yuuri briefly considered moving seats. Jean-Jacques Leroy, the most infamous Command student in the academy, threw his bag down next to Emil from the front. Dropping into the chair, he openly elbowed Emil. Emil simply continued to smile. Yuuri re-considered. 

At 1355 hours, the back of Yuuri’s neck began to prickle. Commander Zh’toroq was late. The warmth of the classroom susurrated across his skin, and he focused on the imperceptible trickle of brilliant blue light that made its way to the edge of his mind, tender and captivating and whispering to him; he just knew, running on all animalistic inclination, that if he saw all of it, it would be so, so beautiful. Instinctively, he grasped at it. The dark door opened. 

A hushed silence echoed across the room. Commander Victor Nikiforov walked in, going to stand on the podium. He looked harried, like he had run from somewhere. He looked warm, a blue flush crawling up the nape of his neck, enticing and sweet. 

He looked amazing.

Commander Nikiforov ran his hand through his silver-white hair, dazzlingly, his smile all white teeth and perfect symmetry. Yuuri wondered distantly if he had antennae stubs on his scalp. If he did, he wondered how they would feel, how they would respond to a shy touch, or something more firm. His black instructor uniform was so, so tight and it left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Yuuri wanted to cry. He had never before wondered how many oblique muscles an Andorian-Human hybrid would have, but at least he had the information now. 

This was fine, Yuuri told himself. He then absently wondered if this was a wet dream, and Phichit had forgotten to wake him up. If it was, though, it wouldn’t be in an academy lecture hall. It would be in his room. Or maybe it would actually be in the lecture hall, and Victor would ask him to stay after, and then - 

Commander Nikiforov stretched one pale, flawless arm out; and, oh, his fingers, Yuuri couldn’t stop looking at his fingers, they were long and gorgeous, dexterous, fitting hands for someone so acutely brilliant and so beautiful. He had read everything those wonderful fingers had ever written in the public domain, and he wasn’t sure if there would ever come a time where he wouldn’t feel the same inexorable adoration when faced with them, with Victor, with everything about him. His presence here was tremendously unanticipated, but he would never ever be unwelcome. Yuuri had never even thought that he might get to see him in the flesh, let alone be in his class, outside of his wildest, most clandestine dreams.

“Commander Zh’toroq is on maternity leave, so starting today, I’m your new instructor!” 

In the sanctity of his mind, Yuuri screamed. Everyone in his immediate vicinity turned around, confused. He hadn’t meant to project that.

JJ Leroy snorted loudly. The Commander was undeterred. Feet ambling gracefully across the podium to the front row, to where JJ Leroy was munching on what looked like fried Klingon worms, Nikiforov looked extremely disdainfully at Leroy, a single eyebrow raised reticently. Leroy looked like he was about to soil that five hundred credit tailored uniform that he had been crowing about five minutes prior.

“Cadet,” Commander Nikiforov stressed, hands on his hips. “Why don’t you tell us if the Andorii language employ glottal stops?”

Yuuri paused. Coldness crept silently over the room, and there was a collective inhalation. Leroy’s eyes widened magnificently. He looked to his left, and then to his right; Emil shrugged indiscernibly. Leroy opened his mouth. 

“Umm...yes?” He choked out.

“You come to an introductory language class, and you don’t even know if the language uses glottal stops? Did you think this class would be an easy credit to tick off your language requirement?”

Leroy looked completely stricken. Nikiforov continued, rounding on him. “What kind of crew member, let alone First Officer or Captain would you be, if you didn’t even know whether or not a founding Federation species used glottal stops in their primary language? Do you know how much offence you could cause, with one miscalculation of even a greeting? Are you interested in started a diplomatic incident, a war? Would you be willing to let your whole crew be decimated just because their Captain is too work-shy to conduct the most basic research?

“I’d have my Chief Communications Officer for that,” Leroy said unwisely, haughty and arrogant, shock wearing off. 

“I doubt even the best Communications Officer in Starfleet could help you find your glottal stops from your elbows.” Nikiforov turned around. 

“Does anyone here know the answer?” He posed the question once more. Everyone looked at each other with a mixture of petrification and sheer awe; there was an incomprehensible spell over the room, a poignant maelstrom settling in the air and over Yuuri’s head. Emotions were calling to him, bawling at him, caressing him, sweet and aggressive, with the emotional release of every academy cadet’s nightmare - being publicly shown up in front of a Federation hero.

Nikiforov was amused. “A commendation,” he said, in the sanguine way professors said when they expected no one to know the answer but a moral lesson had been instilled in the students, “to anyone who knows the answer.”

Yuuri surprised even himself by standing up, his legs moving before his brain could catch up to them and explain in articulate and precise lecture-worthy detail just why this was a bad, terrible, no-good idea. “The Andorii language doesn’t use glottal stops at all because Andorians don’t have a glottis,” he tried, grip on his mental bleed-throughs tenuous at best. “The laryngeal opening is rounder than that of other Federation species, prompting them to forego glottal stops. Instead, their allophones are created through other variations, like the length of lingual nerves, deviating between different regions on Andoria.”

Commander Nikiforov whirled around, sharp and lithe, and took Yuuri in. He looked stunned. His striking blue eyes were wider than Yuuri had ever seen them, in any interview or promotional photo. Yuuri had done that. 

“And you are?”

“Cadet Yuuri Katsuki, sir.” 

Yuuri had surprised him.

The Commander quickly possessed himself again. He smiled, charming as Yuuri had ever seen it, even on the news. “Yuuri,” he said, teasing and delighted. It sounded so inextricably different coming from his tongue, like it was tangible, and you could let it wash over you; and all you would have to do would be to reach for it. “You missed out the part about regional variances beginning to coalesce into a Standardised Andorii language as of the last half-century,” he said, pausing softly.

“But excellent answer, Cadet. I have high hopes for you. Class dismissed. The rest of you, go home and try actually cracking a book open for once before expecting everything to be spoonfed to you.”

The white noise protracted itself through Yuuri’s head, and he considered the strong possibility that he would faint right there and then. Phichit, he swore to himself, must never know about this.

Phichit found out within the day.

Yuuri walked through the corridors after his last class of the day, Astronavigation, a dazed fog from the earlier events still running peripherally over his senses. A hand grabbed out at him and pulled him into the rec room. “Yuuri!” Phichit accosted him, loudly. Then Phichit looked both ways, as if to check that he had succeeded in being stealthy; Yuuri continued to stare at him in bewilderment as Phichit dragged him to a sofa set around a table with Mila Babicheva and Sara Crispino, who were tangled up in each other. Sara was rubbing Mila’s back, failing to conceal her amusement at Mila’s palpable relief and groans. “Rough training?” Yuuri asked her, her answer already solidifying in his mind. 

“The worst,” she groaned, Sara pushing her blazing red hair back.

“You’d be an asset as Head of Security on any ship,” Yuuri told her, as she smiled gratefully. 

“I’ll certainly appreciate her assets when I’m Captain,” Sara grinned, hands drifting lower, laughing at Yuuri’s surely flaming face. Phichit put his hand up for a high five, which Sara immediately reciprocated.

Mila suddenly sat upright. “Don’t try to distract us!” 

Phichit looked like the Cheshire cat, grinning from ear to ear, PADD balancing between his knees. “Yeah Yuuri, don’t try to distract us! We heard,” Phichit finished, with unexpected gravity. 

Sara looked positively melancholic. “We know,” she confirmed. “Yuuri, why didn’t you tell us?”

Even though he knew from the emotions that radiated off them - a honeyed spectral haze of colour billowing gently - that they were teasing him, he couldn’t help but tense anxiously, his chest seizing up in alarm. 

“About the fact you seduced Commander Nikiforov, of course!” Mila shrieked. A Tellarite cadet turned around to glare ominously at her. “Oops,” she said, apologetic. 

Though the rumour mill at the academy was dodgy at the best of times, this was beyond even flagrant distortion. “I think I would have noticed,” Yuuri said, shiftily. 

“Yuuri,” Phichit said, turning to him. “If it wasn’t all over the rumour mill, it’s all over the academy intranet. There’s even a video! I can’t believe you showed up JJ Leroy like that! He’s crazy, he’ll want to come after you!”

“It’s a shame you’re too good at Andorian to have to offer the Commander favours for a passing grade.” Sara sighed dreamily. Mila kicked her under the table. “Ow,” she offered. 

Yuuri wasn’t sure why him answering a question posed in a class had warranted such a spectacle, but he was long past trying to parse out the most complicated subtleties of social interaction, beyond getting a mental feel for them. He didn’t need any angry Command cadet mobs coming after him this year, and he certainly didn’t need his idol thinking he was more impressive than he actually was because of a one-time fluke. 

“Can we talk about something else?” Yuuri suggested, hopefully. 

“Something other than about how I’m coming after you, Katsuki?” Said the disembodied voice of an aggrieved JJ Leroy from behind him.

Today was just not his day. 

“Shut up JJ,” Phichit intervened. “After all, we all heard about how you can’t even tell between your elbow and an Andorian, so how would you even be able to find Yuuri?” 

_Please don’t provoke him,_ Yuuri mentally directed at Phichit. 

_Too late for that now,_ Phichit told him back. 

Leroy took a step forward, hands curled up into fists, setting his jaw to appear more menacing. 

_Is he constipated?_ Phichit wondered emphatically in his head. 

Yuuri choked. 

“Think something’s funny, do you, Katsuki?” A vein began to throb in Leroy’s forehead. He looked as if he could expire of rage right there. Abruptly, a long shadow carried over them, and Yuuri had never before been so glad to see Seung Gil Lee in his life. He was sure Phichit had been before, though.

“Mr Leroy,” he said, unfathomable. “Please remove yourself from the recreation room at once if you intend to cause a disturbance. I understand that the academy gym is generally an appropriate alternative for releasing such proclivities, unless you wish for me to report your threats to Mr Chulanont and Mr Katsuki.” 

Yuuri thought that was the most he had ever heard Seung Gil Lee say at once. Phichit looked delighted. Although Seung Gil shielded his mind, Yuuri sensed an odd, sporadic curl of something dark and possessive leak out. Leroy gritted his teeth, scowling, and started to weigh up the consequences. He took a step forward. Seung Gil had him in an indisputable headlock between one blink and the next, and told him, “Leave.” 

Leroy scrambled. 

There was an incredibly awkward silence, as Seung Gil firmly avoided looking at them. “Wow,” Mila said, breaking it casually. “You know Suus Mahna?” 

“Every Vulcan receives training in the art from a young age,” he responded neutrally. 

“That was amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it!” Phichit exclaimed, enchanted. Yuuri gave Phichit a knowing look.

While Seung Gil’s facial expression didn’t change, somehow, he seemed gratified. He nodded his head, and turned on his heel. Phichit’s face crumpled. “Wait!” Yuuri called after him. 

_Take your chance now!_ Yuuri told Phichit.

“Thank you,” Phichit breathed, almost reverent. 

Seung Gil paused. He opened his mouth, and closed it again. He stiffened his back once more. “Your thanks are illogical, Mr Chulanont. But they are appreciated nevertheless.”

“It’s Phichit!” Phichit yelled after him. Seung Gil Lee kept walking. 

The four of them collapsed back into their seats. “Pay up, Sara,” Phichit cackled gleefully. 

“Ugh. Three bottles of Altairian brandy, I’ll have to start saving up.” Sara said, immensely put out. 

“Yuuri, you can share them with me,” Phichit said, magnanimous as ever. 

Yuuri smiled. 

“And you can bring one for Victor, too.” 

Mila and Sara howled uproariously. Yuuri pushed his hair back, and smiled again, strolling away. 

“Wait!” Phichit said, pouting. “Where are you going?” He gripped his PADD tightly to his chest.

“Don’t tell me you forgot, Mr Treasurer - it’s xenolinguistics club!” 

“My apologies, Mr President!” Phichit said, running after him. 

“Who’s our teacher sponsor this year, anyway?” Phichit asked, as they jogged together companionably across the quad, foliage crackling serenely under their feet beside a bed of forget-me-nots. The wind breezed benignly, a surreptitious rustling trickling through the air. The ice blue sky, embalmed with clouds, was punctuated with thin streams of light, whipping leaves in cryptic code. Yuuri was incredibly content, feeling his easy satisfaction expand like celestial light in his heart the closer they got. He re-examined his unexpected placidity in nature, whilst standing outside the door of the meeting room. 

“It was meant to be Zh’toroq,” Yuuri told him. “But I think I know who it is now,” he said, tapping his access card as the door slid open. 

It was Nikiforov. Of course it was Nikiforov.

“Ah, which one of you is the president of this fine xenolinguistics establishment?” He asked genially, striding towards them. 

Phichit stepped forward, answer at the ready. “I’m Phichit Chulanont, the treasurer, and this is -” 

“Hello Yuuri!” Commander Nikiforov said, in all his glory - and oh, was he glorious - walking towards him. Only the firm guiding hand of Phichit on his back stopped him from descending into the depths of hyperventilatory hell. “I didn’t know you were the president of xenolinguistics club!” 

“We did only meet this morning, Commander,” Yuuri said. Nikiforov’s face fell, and Yuuri instantly regretted his succinct response. 

_Harsh,_ said Phichit. 

Yuuri agreed, and sought to remedy the situation. “But it was a memorable meeting!” he added. Nikiforov smiled dazzlingly again, his ebullience throwing Yuuri completely off kilter once more. Sometimes it was hard to look at him. 

“Please, call me Victor,” he said, like he wasn’t reciting the start of every fantasy Yuuri had ever had. “I’m your teacher sponsor this year,” he added. He had stepped right into Yuuri’s space, and there was about an inch between them as Yuuri struggled not to be wholly enveloped into the sweeping expanse of Victor’s mind. Victor gave off so much warmth, not just mentally, but physically; it was likely he had a higher body temperature due to his Andorian heritage - at least that was what Yuuri told himself - leaving him suffused with a flush, heat singing down his spine. Victor didn’t look away from him. 

Phichit coughed, and the trance was broken. They both stepped out, Victor running a hand through his hair. Yuuri felt mortified with how easy he had fallen under Victor’s spell, when it was more likely than not that he was this friendly with everyone. He turned to appraise the students who had come to the club - mostly Communications students, with a smattering of Command track ones, including Sara Crispino and her brother, Michele, who had initially followed her to Command school, but after a vehement public confrontation, had gone to pursue his own life on the Nursing track. Emil, on Diplomacy track, appeared to be trying to coax Michele out of his grumpy stupor, a fruitless endeavour if Yuuri had ever seen one; there was one more student that Yuuri had only heard about, but never seen in person. Curiously, he considered Otabek Altin, the only currently living Klingon-Human hybrid, who had chosen to attend Starfleet Academy after Victor had established a previously unforeseen peace treaty with the Klingons. Otabek remained an enigma in more ways than one, a qualified doctor training in the Medical track, coming from a culture that valued, above all, a noble death in battle. 

He followed Phichit to the front of the room, feeling his nerves build in his stomach. Phichit began to talk, explaining their roles and plans for the year, whilst Yuuri tried to control his breathing. Locking eyes with Victor, who was gazing at him from across the room - eyes keen and indecipherable - he started to talk himself up to it. He was the president of the club, he told himself. This was his job, and he’d never be the CCO of the Makkachin if he couldn’t introduce himself to people who already mostly knew him. 

“Thanks for coming to the preliminary meeting, everyone. It’s good to see a such a great...turnout, this year.” He started. Phichit smiled at him encouragingly. “We’ll be looking at a mix of Federation languages,, and also some non-Federation ones, like Romulan and Klingon.”

Otabek looked at him inquisitively. “You can differentiate between Vulcan and Romulan?”

Finally, some chartered territory. “Yes, I can,” he said. 

“Even between all the dialects?” Otabek pressed.

“Of course he can, he’s the best linguist the academy has seen since Nyota Uhura and Hoshi Sato!” 

Everyone turned to look at Victor. He simply shrugged, appearing to be unashamed. “And myself, of course,” he added winningly, all celebrity smile and clever eyes. Yuuri only stared at him in unmitigated surprise. 

Michele joined in on the interrogation. “So how many languages do you know?” Sara frowned apologetically next to her brother.

Yuuri just wanted to get back to discussing the plans for the xenolinguistics club. Beside him, Phichit rolled his eyes.

 _Just tell them,_ Phichit advised.

“I’m fluent in fifteen Federation languages, and proficient in seventeen others, including a few regional and ancient Terran ones. I know all Vulcan and Romulan dialects. Bjjatlh e ylmev, please, Otabek and per piacere fa silenzio, Michele. To get back to the business at hand, we’ll be starting with Vulcan this year. I’m sending you all the uplink to some pre-reformation Vulcan love poetry to start with.”

Phichit was laughing wildly in his head at that, although he was doing a good job at keeping his face stoic.

“Have a look, and we’ll discuss it next meeting. If you have any questions, please direct them to me or Phichit.” Yuuri looked around, gauging his audience.

“Or me,” Victor said, winking. 

“That’s all, see you next week!” He said, as the noise levels rose with the cheerful sound of people beginning to direct themselves out, pleased to have the rest of the day free on an undoubtedly busy first week. 

“That went OK. I can always sic my personal Vulcan on Michele and Otabek if you want,” Phichit told him. Yuuri remembered exactly why Phichit was his best friend. “Do you want to get some pizza tonight, marathon some old 22nd century holovids before the work piles up?” Yuuri was about to agree when he suddenly felt blissfully warm, hearing gentle footsteps behind him.

Victor interrupted, smiling. “Yuuri, I was wondering if you wanted to get a meal with me, talk about your plans for the club this year?” He stood up straight, hands down his sides, casual posture belying the stark joy he emanated. Yuuri looked again at Phichit, feeling distraught. Victor noticed.

“And of course you can come too, Mr Chulanont, if you want!” Victor said. 

Phichit raised his eyebrows. “It’s Phichit, please. I would love to, but I, um...have a thing,” he said, not even trying for subtlety. “It’s my new job with the Federation’s publicity department you know. Managing their social media profiles isn’t easy, you know how it is.” Yuuri did indeed know how Phichit’s job was, and he also knew for someone like Phichit, who was naturally predisposed to spending every available moment on social media anyway, it was in no way taxing at all, which was exactly why the Admiralty had chosen him for the job.

Victor’s smile was blinding. “Oh, you spearheaded the Federation social media campaign? I thought that was a great idea! Even the Klingons are using it, you know. So many of the kids are interested in enlisting after seeing the new promotional media, it’s amazing. We’ll leave you to it, then!” 

Phichit looked supremely satisfied. “That’s great to hear. It was actually Yuuri who recommended I go for it, you know. Yuuri’s a great friend like that.”

“I’m sure he is,” Victor said, eyes bright.

 _Phichit, please stop,_ Yuuri chastised. 

_Just trying to do my part as your wingman, bro,_ Phichit said unabashedly. “See you later!” He ran out of the room, only looking back to wink at Yuuri, with all the subtlety of a gunshot devoid of a silencer.

It was just the two of them left, silence amplified. “So where did you want to go?” He asked Victor. 

“I haven’t been back to San Francisco in five years,” he said, his finger on his lip. “Why don’t you show me your favourite place?” 

“Well,” Yuuri said, pleased to be on home ground, if he was to be alone with Victor. He ran through the thought again, once, twice, and concluded that his reality was surreal beyond even the most optimistic dreams he’d dared to allow himself to have. He idly wondered if Leo’s earlier hypospray had contained hallucinogenic properties.

“I know a place that does a great katsudon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just some quick notes:
> 
> -I'll try and keep a regular weekly posting schedule for Tuesdays from now on
> 
> and translations:
> 
> Klingon: Bjjatlh e ylmev - Shut up  
> Italian: per piacere fa silenzio - Please be quiet


End file.
